South Main still smells like belt dust if the wind is wrong.

The first desk was a borrowed mill bench two blocks south of the canal lock that tourists photograph and locals ignore. The paint was hardware-store white. The bar was older than the building.

What changed was not the tools. It was the refusal to treat a 5-iron as a separate citizen. Once the 6-iron became the spine, players from Firestone Park and Highland Square started leaving second-paint prints on the floor.

We still will not touch putters or drivers. The mill draws iron arcs. That boundary is the whole personality of the shop.

Who comes

League players who are tired of missing left only with two clubs. Not tourists looking for a launch-monitor carnival.